Making Dad My Bitch

"Another fucking weekend," I mumbled, the screen of my phone reflecting back my bored face. Summer had fully set in, and the damn humidity was already gluing my hair to my forehead. Not that I was outside all that much anyway, our stupid 'family fun time' at our private pool was pretty mandatory around here in this suburban shithole. Our "paradise estate" as mom loved calling it. Personally, a mansion in the middle of the suburban neighborhood wasn't as good as she hyped, I could find another hundred way better, or more "worth my time." That pool is all right. For now, anyway.

My mom, Clara, was by the pool first as usual. An ex-model and she knew it well enough too. Still rocks those yoga pants like no other. And that’s enough. She’s the type of woman that can get people looking and make a sale in minutes, or to suck people into a hole just from a short dialogue. Honestly, pretty convenient most of the time, but you wouldn’t want to mess around with the woman either, at least the first few times anyway. A walking nuclear plant, if that makes any sense. Then my sister, Lily. All sunshine and bubbly and, if not controlled would jump down people's throats whenever they said something out of line, especially when she found it an injustice on "any type" of woman. Her best intentions were as annoying as an itchy dick, all the time. And yeah that also sums up how her best friend will do in all situations. It's something else.

Then there’s the runt, Tom. My kid brother. Always the “little guy" in my family. If my sister’s annoying in her justice system way, well, Tom was just annoying period, the perfect pet, at my sister’s side. It kinda pissed me off since it's my job here! Just not something that was "cool," you know?

But it's my dad that takes the fucking spotlight, even when I wished he did not! Dad...Marcus. I call him a caveman, the way the hair grows. Those muscles were so defined that makes any man question his masculinity, at any goddamn age! That was probably it. They didn't make people like my dad anymore, with the square jaw and his own version of what they call the "dad bod". Buff and rock solid. Not a damn trace of fat to see. You know what's stupid is his voice was deep like velvet too, the kind of voice people like to imagine while on their pillow and having a wet dream over an erotic film. My parents had been married for over twenty years so I have a lot of those scenarios inside my head for my own enjoyment. But then it will become a hell to handle by now if it all came through too. He’s always playing the modest father role: protecting the kids and worshiping his queen. Like some hero straight from a manga, all that muscles but only thinks about his family. Disgusting! You have it all and you're acting like a simp?! So damn boring I will say! All that potential…. wasted on some fucking dumbshit ideals! If it was me with his body... I can't think of much for a better use than to... yeah!

Anyway, that’s them. Perfect family, right? They never knew what was hiding behind the walls, like those rats trying to seek food and shelter, and how well their walls would break if only a single move happened at a time. For me, anyway, they were puppets with invisible strings. Just need a subtle movement to set the stage for them doing my deeds for me and what better to set a place than my new favorite puppet dad!

The truth was, though, all that "family" shit was just a backdrop for what I wanted. And what I wanted was my dad. I'd spend hours just watching him, imagining those muscles beneath my hands, how they'd feel when I bent him to my will. I’d imagine him begging, crying, his strong body completely at my mercy. I wanted to claim him, make him mine, and erase that damn "modest father" act. I wanted to taste every inch of that body, especially those pecs, like they were meant for my mouth alone.

Every summer, it was the same: a few days at my grandparents' place. A whole mess of relatives, kids running around, and the old folks asking the same damn questions every year. I was over it, and I was over them. So, at dinner, I dropped the bomb: "I'm gonna stay home this year."

Mom gave me that usual "look," but then, surprisingly, Dad chimed in, "Yeah, I can't make it either. Got some urgent paperwork at the construction company, needs dealing with this week."

Everyone acted all disappointed, saying how they’d miss us, but they'd already promised Grandma and they were going any that way. It was the perfect setup.

The thing was, I knew my dad wasn't staying home because of some paperwork. One night, a few weeks back, I'd seen him. He was at some fancy restaurant, all cozy with some young blonde, laughing and touching her like he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Then, later that night, I saw them going into some cheap motel. He thought he was being slick, but I saw it all. He wanted his little side piece. It wasn't about work, it was about her, and he was lying to the family for her.

But the lie didn't matter to me. It was just another piece in the puzzle. The stage was set. The rest of the family would be gone for a few days. My dad would be here. And I would make sure he'd regret all those lies he told.

I’m not gonna lie, I'm a piece of work. I play it cool on the outside, but in my head, it’s chaos. Seeing my dad with that blonde bitch… it pissed me off way more than it should have. He was supposed to be the example, the guy I wanted to be. Now he’s just another hypocritical asshole, driven by his dick. It was a pathetic image that he couldn't even hide it. And it was for this reason, I was planning to make sure he understood the cost of that mistake. I wanted to break him down and show him just how easily he could lose control. I wanted to make him my plaything, nothing more than a whore waiting for my touch.

But how? The idea was forming but I hadn't figured out the details yet.

Then, it hit me. A year ago, maybe longer, when I was just messing around on the dark corners of the net, a "friend" of mine, someone who was pretty much the human embodiment of those places, told me about this substance. Some super aphrodisiac. He said it could make even the most straight-laced guy beg for dick, turn him into a pure lust-driven animal. I’d brushed it off then. All that “base instinct” stuff wasn’t really my vibe. But then I saw my dad with that bimbo, all his supposed principles and “family values” out the window, and suddenly, it clicked. It was all about the basic desires after all.

And now, with him staying home alone with me, the opportunity to get a hold of that substance was right there, within reach. It was time to give my dad a taste of what “basic instinct” truly meant. Time for him to know who's in control now.

That night, I went back online, navigating to the seedier parts, contacting my "friend" – call him Finn. The guy's probably selling kidneys online when not dealing with crap like this. But he got the hookup. It wasn’t quick. It took almost a week for the damn thing to get here, a long drive to the middle of nowhere to pick up a package the size of my fist. That cost a good over grand. I didn't need that much anyway, just getting into this level of degeneracy feels unnecessary, almost annoying to start the long play, but who knows it might get more interesting later on.

When I opened it at home, it didn’t look like some homemade crap. It looked… professional. It came from Russia, or so all those damn words seem to say. It’s all written in Russian every bit of text on the packaging, on the bottle, and on the instruction leaflet too, with an attached English manual like they didn’t even care about it being hidden in another country with its strange tongue. High quality and ready to go I will say! The instruction warned of the substance, that its strength came with a gradual usage of it for best results. 2 to 4 drops daily would do. Just add it into their food or drinks or just force-feed the sucker until he can’t resist his urges anymore!

I had 10 days before Mom, Lily, and Tom left for my grandparents. Ten days to get Marcus primed and ready. Ten days to make sure his own control becomes only an imagination

So I started.

Every day. Every chance I got. 2 drops into his morning coffee, another in his lunch, or those "healthy smoothies” mom would make in the evenings. I was also mindful that too much too fast would make him suspicious, and my little goal of playing him might fail. I added more when the day called for it, mixing the clear liquid with ease with a practiced hand, like a pharmacist mixing new medicine with great precision.

And yeah it gets more fun when it gets personal. Some nights when dad would be half asleep on the couch, mouth open to the gods, I’d carefully pry his lips with my fingertips, tilt the bottle close and then squeeze those droplets right into his damn mouth, his throat gurgling when the fluid finally fell in. Everything I was doing was all calculated and discreet. Careful and all those stupid words when all I have wanted to do is watch him break so many times that they would never be able to fix them! A chess game of moves that has already started way long before all these actions happened now. My plans were being hatched and all that I have to do is simply... Wait!

Ten days. Ten days I’d been feeding my dad that Russian juice, playing this patient game that made all my nerves go to the extreme and every muscle in my legs start shaking with anticipation, that I wasn't sure If I had ever experienced so strongly. It was all slow, so gradual that it started to become extremely boring if anything. Truth be told though, my effort felt… frustratingly pointless. Marcus was still Marcus – the same mountain of a man, solid, rough around the edges, always exuding this effortless air of control that should belong to another me if that is the case at this damn house. Sometimes that's the thing that makes me furious and hungry at the same time. But I could sense changes; very very minor, things I knew he'd probably never recognize himself. A more open smile every now and then. Sometimes that glare from him towards any strangers would linger just a little bit longer than before too.... Nothing big.

Still, I had faith. Finn wasn’t some backwater grifter. He sold this kind of shit every day for a living and I couldn’t just walk out after paying a premium price. My father would break, sooner or later that is the natural process of cause and effect anyway and these were all merely calculations to see the best moment. So, with that mindset, I had all my beliefs at hand. Just needed another push that I believe is not going to be much far off if everything will continue with its due courses.

On the morning of the tenth day, Marcus and I piled into the car and took Mom, Lily, and Tom to the airport. Mom squeezed my hand one last time with tears brimming the edge of her eyelid, giving some more cliche warning as usual and I just nodded through them like usual as those words came at second nature. Lily did something annoying about asking for "no cheating", a look that makes every bone in my body itch when she said those words and little Tom clung at my sleeve while trying to make me annoyed and cry but gave a simple goodbye as if he wasn't that serious of his to all actions.

Then it was over, watching their little figures fade past security with a light feeling inside. They're now a whole plane ride away. Dad and I walked out and into our new hollow mansion, it felt unnaturally empty, but I think now… I think… finally, that emptiness will turn something else.

The next day, it was back to the same routine, the way it was for the past couple of weeks. Summer classes for me, which just translated to zoning out and staring blankly at a computer screen, doing the bare minimum just for the sake of the requirement, while Marcus headed back to his job, to manage that endless flow of cash while all the little ants try to do something from the bottom and I just simply enjoy the scene of them crawling around My daily duty still consisted of slipping those drops into my father's drink, his breakfast, or his random smoothies mom keeps forgetting in the fridge, while waiting for that special day. That small "push" still didn't present himself.

But that day, something else was cooking inside, I wasn’t only thinking of the drugs anymore.

Over the past few days, I’d started another "experiment," I would say it to be the “evil version" if not anything. A different angle that needs preparation and care that no other in the past has experienced.

I stopped washing down below. Yeah. You heard right, stopped cleaning my dick and balls completely while still giving a proper wash, ignoring any places those "things" touched. Each run, got a lot of the 'manly' hormone flowing all over my own body, mixing it with sweat and all of my pheromones. The gym became my lab. All those tight-fit socks, all my briefs after working up a hard sweat became...well... full. I even nutted a few times into the fabric of the sock and those soaked- briefs just for that extra 'flavor’. Everything I was wearing carried this dense aroma of my male scent and my own cum, getting musky by the hour with a specific aroma no woman could even produce, that was just as powerful.

Today, the clothes were all ready. This might have been weird if anyone knew, especially the way those clothes made this strong masculine scent but here we go

I had everything lay on the bed, each cloth was so dense and musky, then with a flick of my finger, I pressed them over all places. His favorite armchair, his pillow, under his work shoes, the sheets of the bed all around those surfaces that Marcus would spend time in his own area. All while letting those doors and windows close tight, a simple trap, if it makes sense He was now walking in the midst of it. It might just as good be his entire world that would welcome him home, like a male Venus trap.

When Marcus finally comes home, the entire damn house was going to be soaked with the raw power of me. He will get drowned inside it like the animal that he secretly has been all this damn time, with not many options.

That afternoon, a text buzzed on my phone from my dad: "Won't be home tonight."

Yeah, shocker. At least now all those dumb 'extra works', his so-called working shifts on weekends were all put into an official reason. The “building project,” huh? t wasn’t some damn building that kept him erect the young slut down the street. He would normally just make those reasons seem better in Mom’s eyes or whatever she thought of Marcus after twenty long years. A weak attempt for someone who got this good aatmaking excuse, and that thought does sting me at times. Either way, he clearly preferred chasing tail to actually being a damn father.

I ate a shitty sandwich I just randomly found and slept away in front of the game console. So tomorrow, yeah that will be the big day since my dad always tries to come home on weekends anyway since that's how normal people work. Since it was already Saturday, a day earlier the girls had left and tomorrow, everything was coming together wonderfully!

But then at night when the whole world is sleeping with a sweet, innocent, and perfect silence that we knew never actually existed at any point of existence... around 3 am in damn morning and there was Marcus's truck pulled back in and into the garage, and the heavy steps sounded pissed. Definitely pissed, those stomps that pulled the whole house feel so heavy from them.

My ears perked. He didn’t sound tired; he sounded angry. I could hear the bathroom door slam shut, hard.

I didn’t move for a second, my breath becoming shallow all of a sudden, my hands were gripping so tight. Carefully, I slipped out of my bed, feeling my legs tense with each and every step I made towards the hall, and made my approach towards his space. It was the time for play with Ying Hunter now step feet moved on autopilot, careful not to make any sounds until reaching his door. I placed my ear right next to that door. My breath barely touched it. What was he doing? What was happening?

From the other side of the door, I heard my dad muttering under his breath, his voice laced with frustrated anger that I had never heard before. Not that it was rare, but it was never directed at himself like this, at least not that often. It sounded like he was arguing with himself. The words were muffled, but I caught bits and pieces: "...what the hell is wrong with me... why won’t this thing work?..."

He sounded like he was trying to get it up, but it wouldn’t obey. I could hear him slapping himself, probably trying to get his cock to cooperate. Then he said, “That little slut... I can't even get hard for her now. What is this…?” The words were all jumbled like he didn’t know what to say, not like the usual self-assured dad that everyone knew. I could hear him panting, running his hand all over it, but it sounded like it was just limp.

Then he started scratching, not like a normal itch, but more like he was trying to dig inside his own guts. I heard him grunt, "What the hell is this itching? Not from the outside, but…inside... down there…” I could hear the shift in his tone like he was fighting with something invisible, something that was irritating him from the inside. He sounded so confused, like something was wrong with his own body and he couldn't even fix it.

I put two and two together. The aphrodisiac. The itching. That’s it. It was all working, working the way it was supposed to, and better than expected. He couldn’t get it up for his side chick; it was all messed up, and he was feeling the pull in his gut, where all those seeds would grow. He was being drawn to something else. It wasn't some random slut that he can touch at any time, but the seed that has been growing inside for the past ten days. The substance was pushing him, and he didn’t even realize it.

A grin spread across my face. It was showtime. Finally.

I backed away from the door, the sound of his heavy breathing a background track to my excitement. I bolted back to my room, the anticipation making my skin tingle. Tomorrow… tomorrow was going to be very interesting.

The next morning, the house felt different. A thick, heavy kind of different. It wasn’t just the lingering scent of my seed, but also a tension that seemed to hum in the air. I woke up early, feeling wired, my nerves buzzing with anticipation. I headed to the kitchen to get myself some grub, letting the lingering aroma of the past few days flow back to me. It did make the house smell different. Almost…alive.

I found my dad already there, nursing a cup of coffee, looking like he had barely slept at all, those wrinkles on his forehead seemed more profound. He was still in his work clothes from yesterday, looking all disheveled as if he was just going to throw himself back to the damn sofa. I wanted it so badly to be my bed, not that cheap piece of furniture. The dark circles under his eyes were even more visible from yesterday too, like the night before had been some form of torture.

"Morning," I said, playing it cool, keeping my face neutral while that grin threatened to break out. I grabbed the milk from the fridge, noticing that the bottle that contained my “special” additions is half empty and the only one using it was that muscular bitch himself. It made the corners of my mouth twitch

He just grunted in response, taking another sip of his coffee and moving the mug a bit closer. He sniffed the air a couple of times, his eyes squinted. “Something smells… weird in here,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Kinda… musky.”

My heart skipped a beat. I pretended to shrug. “You’re probably just stressed out, Dad. You were up half the night with whatever those ‘work’ things are. Besides you got some heavy load so no wonder you are this sensitive right now, maybe your body wanted to finally rest”. It’s always so easy to make him believe what I've said and how easily his emotions always come out when I talk like this. He let me do whatever I wanted, and he might be too stupid to notice if anything had been planned against him or even if those words made sense or not. I leaned against the counter, feigning disinterest while I watched him process my casual lies.

He frowned, still sniffing the air. I could see his eyes darting around, his senses heightened now while trying to figure out what it was that made the air so different that he didn't even know what it was, all the while I was there, calm and collected. "Yeah, maybe," he finally mumbled, taking another drink of the coffee, those droplets that fell into his thick mustache are so damn interesting to my eyes right now.

He was hooked. He knew something was off, but he had no idea what it was or why. And now… that itch was growing. It was pushing him closer.

I knew, that by now, it was only a matter of time before that mask of “modest dad” would finally come off.

Later that morning, after we’d both tried to settle back into some semblance of normalcy – me "studying", him flipping through papers on the kitchen table while his hand kept rubbing those areas that itch him to hell – I decided to kick things up a notch. The day just feels so boring if I didn’t spice up the scene a bit. I casually took off my shirt and shorts, my skin already heated and smelling heavily of me from all that ‘experiment’ I pulled earlier. It didn’t hurt to show that perfect image my body had built up throughout the years while showing off what my future would look like if I became like my dad. "It’s too damn hot, Dad," I said, pretending to be annoyed with the humidity, not letting my eyes stray down towards where the heavy fabric was doing its best to make it smaller. "Gonna do a couple of laps in the pool." I could feel his eyes following my movements as I walked past him, making a casual movement with my hip, and headed to the back door.

He grumbled something, but I didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on my bare torso, even though it looked as if it was in a split second. His gaze lingered on where my shorts were barely hiding the outline of my cock, that has been throbbing with excitement that even I myself started to feel it.

The backyard pool was a perfect trap, surrounded by the tall wall of the estate with little place for anyone to see any of us at any angle, making it a perfect playground where I could drag him in whenever I wanted. I slid into the water with a splash, the cool water sending a pleasant shock through my skin. The scent in the water got thinner but at least that little effect may have helped Marcus feel that something was off if everything was already gone.

I began my laps. The muscles in my arms and back stretched with each stroke as I deliberately made each move sensual as possible, the water lapping against my chest and making that tiny movement at my cock that made the wet fabric cling to my body and showed more than they already were.

"Maybe you should come in, Dad," I said, turning my head to where he sat on the patio, barely looking up from that useless paper he had with himself. "Cool off. It might help you relax.” I made sure the tone was casual with a touch of suggestion while looking in his direction, showing my skin that was glistening wet with all the heat that it was carrying all this while.

I saw him flinch. He was clearly fighting himself. I knew, from the way those hands of his kept fiddling with that pen, the way his feet shuffled with no actual reason, and the way those eyes started drifting everywhere. He wanted to, but that damn "modest father" persona still held on for his life, for a little longer. But the urges he had been suppressing for weeks were starting to push back, screaming in his ears for any sort of relief.

His gaze flickered down towards my crotch, that barely hidden form pushing against the thin fabric. It was getting harder to ignore it now. He’s been holding himself firmly hidden, his whole body starting to crave for something that he barely could put a name on, and I was going to be his guide. I had to be.

I let that subtle invitation hang in the air, knowing that he was getting closer, closer to slipping off all control.

I kept swimming, but every few laps, I’d glance over at Dad, my movements deliberate, slow, letting my body stretch and undulate, drawing his eyes down towards the ever-so-slight bulge pressed against my wet swimsuit bottoms. Each time, he'd quickly look away, but that brief look was enough, always enough. He can never truly look at anything else if they're being put next to me, and I just feel a lot of enjoyment each and every single time it happens like clockwork. The fabric was clingy; doing what fabric is supposed to be doing, highlighting that thick shaft I’ve worked hard to get for all these years, a glimpse of its growing, insistent form, begging to be set free for any sort of contact.

I climbed out of the pool, deliberately ignoring the towel, and just stood there, letting the water drip down my skin. As always, that thick head of my shaft started to strain the fabric against it as gravity pulled my suit bottoms towards the center of it. Even that fabric wanted to free my massive tool, just like him!

I knew, that when it comes to our kind, iit'slike the core nature that’s been kept for so many thousands of years. Those bulges, those shapes, those obvious signs were just too irresistible to all of our own kin, including all those muscles I carefully made, if not just purely for that reason only.

He kept flipping his stupid paper. "Maybe some music would help?" He kept acting as if he could look elsewhere but me, the way his hands shook whenever he moved the table. "A bit quiet huh". His breathing had grown heavier than normal, that usual rumble becoming rough as every breath started becoming something deeper than before. I heard his chair squeak slightly as he shifted again, his body tense. All that build-up in his guts has gone over his body to show how hard he’s fighting himself just by being in that very moment, all those little details I never forget from watching people so carefully over so many times over, the art of making sure the hunt is still worth it even now with it was getting a tad bit predictable

His eyes finally drifted lower, he glanced towards my center before he quickly snapped away. He knew what that bulge meant for men and especially now he had the experience over those weeks. That’s what he craved, whether or not he consciously knew it. A taste of the forbidden, a hint of the raw, male need, was in him right at that time, even though he couldn’t stop it from wanting. And right now… my dick was the key. The same kind he can see all the time from my pants but, now... It wasn't hidden in any sort. It was ready for consumption right before him like an all-time, always readily meal. And I would make sure he would want a huge slice for every meal from here now.

I stepped towards him slowly, the small droplets leaving a trace over his own feet while those dripping noises seemed to fill up any small hole he had in his heart. Each heavy step seemed to pull him close to those depths and right now he had no say in what that new path looked seemed. The pull is always ready when there is me, and today the meal he never knew how much he truly craved had appeared before him.

I stopped right in front of him, close enough that I could smell the mix of coffee and sweat on his skin. Close enough that he couldn't miss the way my shorts were making a pathetic attempt at concealing the obvious, a stark proof of everything he craves and needs right at this moment. I let the tension build up between us, letting all those emotions simmer for a while

“You okay, Dad?” I asked, my voice soft, but with an underlying edge of something more, knowing that small move already pulled so many parts out.

He finally looked up at me, his eyes darker now, a new layer that hadn’t been there even just hours ago, those irises were slightly wider than normal and for sure I had made eye contact this time around. He had tried his best to move those orbs of his but it was me this time, not letting him avert that eye to look anything else. He swallowed, his throat bobbing as he tried his best to look into my face, at a loss of things he truly wanted but could no longer say if it was just this place. The mask was starting to crack.

"Yeah... just tired," he replied, his voice raspy. "It’s this damn heat..." He licked his lips, the corners of his mouth twitching. His gaze flickered again toward my crotch like he could resist those cravings that had plagued his body since then I already knew what it was because that familiar sign was already over my own crotch for most of my entire time alive on this Earth. He wanted to look, he needed it, and at the time that the look actually showed up, all that pride seemed to vanish so quickly and almost nonexistent if one never saw it. "This... musky thing, is it ...?"

"Yeah. " I whispered back to that stupid answer. It’s all those “musks” he had mentioned all those times, his scent is there, mixing with mine and making a mixture for him to remember whenever I get close enough. I lifted a hand, a touch over his hand with my forefinger, and those hairs from that forearm made the tiny details so noticeable in the big picture I already saw myself over manyimess" Maybe you need some fresh air huh," I suggested, a ghost of a smile touched the corners of my lips as the heat spread from that skin to my hand.

He paused. He knew what was going on. All of this “casual conversation” while his gaze is still trying to find an exit route over my body, all while smelling my musk and seeing my dick was his new normal if not something else. “Maybe….” he almost whispered back, finally caving a little with the temptation now was stronger than the fear.

“Come on,” I said, turning towards the pool. “A few laps, a cold drink… might help.” I glanced back, making sure he was following as he was, getting drawn in with each and every step of mine as my pace kept it even

He pushed back his chair, his movement a little stiff, and rose from his chair. I could hear him release a frustrated breath as his joints clicked and groaned as if everything had decided to punish him at that moment, all with those little signs of wanting that I tried to build up from each and every interaction over so long now. He started towards me, still fidgeting and not able to make proper eye contact

We walked side by side. I kept the pace slow while he let those lingering touches brush onto my arms. He couldn't ignore, that smell, it was still thick, it was everywhere like the air was filled up with it, and he couldn’t resist it, those soft and lingering touches he kept throwing onto my hands with his rough one started growing each moment we were side by side.

When we reached the edge of the pool, I paused. The sunlight reflected off the water, creating a glittering path toward me, with his gaze also pulling those lust-fueled urges to their endpoints.

I grabbed a bottle of sunscreen from the side table, the cool plastic a stark contrast to the heat radiating off my skin. “Here,” I said, tossing it to him, “You’re gonna fry out here, Dad.” I settled into a lounger, spreading out, letting the sun beat down on me, and waiting.

He caught the bottle, his movements still stiff, but there was a subtle shift in his posture. He wasn't fidgeting as much, that subtle nervousness being replaced with something more focused. He unscrewed the cap and then hesitated. He looked at me, his eyes narrowed a bit, before grunting, “Here, put it on my back.” It wasn't a question, more like a command, a subtle reminder of who he usually is, before he is being taken by those urges he can't seem to find any sort of explanations for.

I smirked, taking the bottle from his hand. He turned his back to me and settled onto a nearby lounger, his muscles bunching beneath his skin as he leaned forward. I squeezed a generous dollop of lotion into my palm, the scent of coconut mixing with the heavy musk that already permeated the air. It was like the scent of the ocean finally decided to join the party and it will be a full house soon.

My hands glided over his skin, my fingertips tracing the hard lines of his back. I moved slowly, deliberately, letting my touch linger, feeling the heat radiating from him, a silent message that he understood and wanted more of. I worked the lotion in, the friction of my hands against his skin creating a soft, almost rhythmic sound that filled the space between us. He’d tense slightly when I came near the base of his spine, his muscles bunching and flexing under my touch. His breathing was heavier now, each inhale deeper than the last.

I moved up his neck, applying the lotion with deliberate care, feeling the coarse hairs on the back of his head brush against my fingers. He inhaled sharply when I touched the base of his neck, and that scent was still there, even as I put another layer of protection I could feel his muscles tightening even more, like a tightly coiled spring about to be released. He wasn't fidgeting anymore. He was still, intense, and waiting. I could see the subtle shifts in his muscles, the slow, deliberate breaths he was taking, and those subtle little signs were adding up to a powerful feeling deep within me, knowing things were falling into place as it was meant to be.

I capped the sunscreen and set it on the small table next to him. He was still, his back to me, muscles taut. The only sound was the soft lap of the water in the pool and the almost silent wind flowing through the estate.

“Done,” I said, my voice low. I stepped back a little, giving him some space, waiting.

He didn’t respond right away, taking a couple of deep breaths before turning back to look at me. His eyes were different now, a heavy haze over the usual sharp blue that made them darker than before. He held my gaze, a silent communication flowing between us. There was a thickness to the air, an energy that felt charged and close.

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it a bit. It was a simple movement but somehow... it felt different than before. "Thanks," he said, his voice rough, the words almost like a growl. "Feel a bit better."

He stood up from the lounger, his eyes lingering on me, and then on that area that was still fighting against the tight fabric with all the intensity of a caged beast. He started towards the pool, his movements more deliberate now, each step almost like a challenge while that area started becoming more prominent with the heat from the air. "Gonna try a few laps myself," he muttered before he plunged into the water with a splash. It had that kind of power you can find in the wild.

He swam hard, his powerful strokes churning the water. I watched him, my own body thrumming with anticipation. He wasn’t just swimming; there was a raw energy in his movements, a barely contained aggression that made the water splash around him. He finished a lap and turned back, his eyes locking onto mine, a silent challenge in that intense gaze.

He climbed out of the pool, water streaming down his body, clinging to his skin and his own wet shorts. He didn’t bother with a towel, letting the droplets trace the lines of his muscles. He stood there, chest heaving, his cock straining against the wet fabric, thicker and more prominent than before. The musk radiating off him now mixed with the chlorine and the coconut scent of the sunscreen, creating a heady aroma that hung heavy in the air. It was his own special smell, all thanks to me.

He took a step towards me, his eyes never leaving mine. The tension between us crackled, thick, and undeniable. The air felt charged, buzzing with unspoken desires and the promise of something more. He stopped right in front of me, our bodies close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.

He reached out, his hand hovering near my shoulder. The muscles in his forearm flexed as his fingers curled, hesitant, as if fighting a sudden urge he hadn't anticipated before. He retracted it quickly, clenching his fist by his side as he took another step toward me, this one filled with anticipation but also caution.

His eyes met mine, but it wasn't the playful challenge from the poolside. The intensity was different, the pupils slightly dilated, the blue of his eyes darker and stormy. "This…this feeling..." He trailed off as if words were suddenly not enough to grasp how weird it felt for a macho guy like him who just liked it straight. It was as if it had already taken over. He brought a large hand to touch his abs, slowly running them around.

I just held his gaze as the silence grew with unspoken wants.

He shifted, his jaw tightening. The frustration was evident now, that simmering intensity now just at the surface, ready to break at any second and just simply burst. "You’re not helping things here,” he muttered, his voice rough around the edges, yet somehow filled with a deep curiosity like never before, while at the same time, it also carried something else that was hidden inside, something a monster that's not sure of who’s truly control it anymore.

He stepped back, a frustrated breath his only response to the heat that seemed to fill him now, both on the outside, with my skin that had touched every bit of his body, and inside with those urges pushing all those principles way back of his head.

We went back inside. Lunch was a quiet affair, a strained politeness between us. He seemed to be avoiding my gaze but those glances, those longing glances were always there at those times I tried to make eye contact. We did normal things - him reading through those papers, while I zoned out in front of the TV with that old game console. The smell, though, the thick musky scent of me still hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder.

We ordered pizza for dinner that night. He barely touched his, and I could feel the tension coiling tighter. He kept shifting, restless. It felt like the air was too thick for him to breathe, and those urges were making him unable to sit properly. As soon as he finished the slices he had, he went off to bed, his movements a bit too quick, his body almost tense.

I waited. I'd noticed, over the past few nights, that’d get up for water around 2 or 3 am, something about that drug that did something to his body that he craved for hydration so badly. He was predictable, even though it’s rare, it was all predictable for someone like him when you see them carefully enough over the year. I got into bed but I wasn’t sleeping. I was waiting. At 2:47 am, my ears finally picked up the faint sound of his footsteps as he lumbered around, and then the floor creaked as he left the room. I got up, and time to do my play.

I slipped out of my room, the floor cool under my bare feet. I moved silently, already knowing what to do. I pushed my door open just a crack, enough to see from the hallway.

On my bed, my laptop screen glowed, casting a flickering light over the room. A gay porn was playing, a man with a body like my dad's, kneeling, sucking on a younger guy's thick cock. The image was clear, explicit, and hard to miss. The sounds of the moans and slurping were audible, but not too loud, just enough to hear from the hallway as a soft and low whisper that was calling for someone’s attention.

I lay back on the bed, positioning myself just right so that my own cock was visible through the crack, a massive form resting against my thigh. The light from the laptop glinted off the head of it, highlighting its thickness. I began to stroke it slowly, and deliberately, making sure the movement was visible from the outside.

The room was dark, except for the light from my screen, creating a scene that looked almost accidental, like a candid moment caught in the night. It looked natural, like a boy in his habitat, just having fun with his own life without a care in the world.

I listened, holding my breath. His heavy footsteps came up the stairs, slow and deliberate, a soft thud with each step. They reached the landing and stopped right outside my door. My heart thumped a bit harder as I lay there, continuing that slow stroking movement, as I felt each stroke more heavy now than ever.

I could practically feel him there. The slight shift in the light was all that confirmed that he had stopped. He must have seen me now, seen everything, seen the movie and my exposed tool ready to be used, seeing the act so shamelessly laid bare for all to see in that digital device and on myself. The silence was so thick, as my every move started taking heavier breaths, the sound I used to produce made those small noises much more prominent than the past ones, especially for the one outside the crack.

Then, the door swung open, the sudden flood of light making me squint for a brief second. He was standing there, a stark image in that pale hue from the lamps around the house. His face was drawn, pale, and somehow sick as if those heavy steps of his were nothing but just the symptoms that followed from that sudden high temperature, those blue orbs dilated in a way I had never seen in a person. It’s more intense but at the same time… it’s almost lost in the vast void that lay on the deepest parts.

But he was pissed. “What the hell are you watching? These Faggots??” he snapped, his voice laced with disgust. His eyes raked over my body and the laptop screen, a flash of something ugly in their depths while those knuckles had clenched themselves so tightly to be paler than normal and that body seemed like it was so full and tensed in the way he would never expect for a straight guy like himself. But the monster now had his feet, it was slowly coming forward with no one but me and a hard pulsing flesh by its side.

I scrambled back, pulling the blanket up to cover myself, trying to look as if I was taken by surprise and now exposed as a horny teen. “Dad! I… I didn’t know you were there,” I stammered, trying to sound embarrassed. “I was just… you know… horny. And with this thing… it just…,” I gestured under the blanket, letting it slip a little, giving him the hint of the huge form straining beneath. I made my voice shaky like I was genuinely ashamed. I looked up at him, doing my best to make eye contact seem almost innocent, while my hand still grazed under the blanket, those movements subtle as I waited for any new actions.

His jaw tightened as he looked back at the screen and then down at the blanket where he knew my cock was, then back at the screen, and then finally towards me with those eyes. His face was twisted in a mix of disgust and… something else that seemed to be pushing back all those previous emotions, the curiosity started to win over him. "That’s… that’s disgusting. What the hell are you doing?” he said, those words still sounded with an angry tone, but there was a hesitation, a flicker of something I couldn't quite place.

"I can’t help it, Dad," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "It’s like… this thing just takes over. It gets so hard, and… I have to do something with it." My gaze was on his face now, making sure to hold it. “Don’t you… ever feel that way?”

His eyes darted back towards the screen, lingering a little longer this time, a man with so much pride that was now getting so much more curious than any time I had seen him before. It was him now, not the guy I usually see. His gaze flickered down to the blanket again. That question I had thrown at him seemed to have shaken his very core. "Are you a faggot?" he said, those words were heavy with anger, disgust, and… at the same time some sort of concern. It’s weird since it’s all mixed up like some sick soup or something, and not some anger from someone who saw those things for the first time.

I let a small, almost defeated sigh escape. “I don’t know, Dad. Maybe. I just know this thing…” I let my hand move under the blanket again, letting my fingers stroke the length of my cock, making a small, deliberate show for him. “It just wants… and when it wants… I can’t say no.” I kept my eyes on his face, making sure he saw the conflict, the feigned vulnerability, as I let the head of my tool poke from under the blanket for a split second.

He flinched, his body stiffening slightly while his gaze quickly moved away, but I know that was just another attempt to make himself think that he didn't like it. He moved closer, slowly, his footsteps deliberate as his body slowly got used to the new sensation that his body had been pushing for the past few weeks. He was drawn in, his curiosity warring with his disgust, while his body was being pushed to the limits. "You’re… you’re sick," he muttered, his eyes flicking back to my crotch again, a weirdly hesitant look of confusion and curiosity on his face. "That’s… that’s not right."

His breathing was heavier now, the words not as strong as his actions like those simple words were more of an attempt to convince himself rather than any actual comments. I could see the way his muscles tensed, the way his hands clenched as if he were trying to hold back something powerful. He reached out again, his fingers brushing the edge of the blanket before he quickly retracted it again. "What…what does it feel like?" His voice was barely above a whisper, while his gaze was stuck on the screen of the laptop, the question almost like an involuntary confession. His disgust and anger were starting to mix up with something that seemed to be more urgent and important than anything he thought he understood before.

I widened my eyes, pretending to be taken aback by his question like he had finally stepped into the darkest corners of human depravity. “You… you want to know?” I asked, my voice a mix of shock and a hint of invitation. “You really wanna know how this feels?” I let a small smirk touch my lips, watching his reaction to my words, with a sudden glint of something dark and unholy.

He hesitated, his eyes darting between me and the laptop screen, and back to the lump under my blanket. He seemed almost like a deer in headlights right now, a lost dog that no longer knew how to follow his master. His confusion was all over his face and the way his posture was now slowly relaxing. I could sense he wanted it, but pride was still holding him, his words a mask to hide that truth. "No! I don't… I just… I just need to understand what makes you act like this. You used to date some chick, didn’t you?" he replied, those words sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than me. His face was flushed, but his body was now slowly moving closer.

I let out a soft chuckle, the sound dripping with insincere pity. I knew I had him now. "Well, it’s like…" I reached out, pulling the blanket back a little, revealing a good amount of my cock, and then stopping to let his eyes drink in the sight before pulling it further, inviting him to see the full glory of it. “It’s like… this feeling builds and builds, and there’s this… intense pleasure at the very end when everything comes together.” My hand moved around it, slow and deliberate, highlighting its size and shape.

He swallowed hard. He was watching now, openly, his earlier disgust warring with growing curiosity and an unsaid lust that he could never seem to be able to hide as of recently. His homophobic shield was weakening, being chipped away with every word, every move. He shifted closer, his gaze fixed on my exposed form as if he had never seen anything more interesting than that, completely losing the battle now. "Like that… like what they’re doing on the screen?" He gestured with his chin towards the laptop.

I smiled a slow, seductive grin. "Yeah," I said, "kinda like that. But… better." I let my hand fall away, a little hint that he will never have it if he never asks for it. A small invitation that he now knew he had to take to know it all by himself.

I shifted a little, making room on the bed, a silent invitation that I knew he understood, given the way his eyes looked over at the space. He hesitated, then slowly sat down, his body stiff as if it didn’t want to touch me, while at the same time, he was also fighting to get closer, just like every time he got closer in the past few hours. I let him get a feel for the small space between us before I made my move, watching his eyes as they looked over to my body.

“Want to try?” I asked, my voice low. I moved my hand away, leaving my cock resting on my thigh, openly on display for him, like a juicy bait waiting to be taken. It was all there, so open, so inviting. His eyes darted down.

He flinched, a small shake of his head as if a small attempt to push back my invitation. "No. No, I won't," he said, his voice rough, stand-rained while at the same time, he was moving his hands closer to the base of the shaft. He looked up at the screen again, the man in the video was now holding that massive cock like it was the most precious thing in the world, and he could see the pure lust in his eyes when those lips were finally about to devour the head of it.

He didn’t say anything else and his hand was almost there, trembling as it finally came to rest over my shaft. The contact was hesitant, almost like he was testing the water. Then his fingers closed around my cock, his grip surprisingly firm. His gaze was fixed on the screen now, his expression shifting as he watched the man in the video, worshipping that huge cock with almost religious devotion, and those small touches and gentle grasp were now becoming rougher, more needy.

The video shifted, moving to a close-up, highlighting the head of the cock. It was red, thick, and glistening with precum, an almost pornographic image of raw desire. I could feel Marcus’s grip tighten. His eyes followed every detail, the way those lips parted, the way the head of the dick slowly slipped between those lips and tongue. He took a deep breath, his mouth slightly open, mirroring the man on the screen. He started moving his hand on my cock, mimicking the worship in front of his eyes. It’s something so weird, so wrong, but he was doing it. He was doing it with a look that almost mirrored the one on screen, just a mix of lust, curiosity, and something deeper. He was learning. And he liked it.

I let him explore, my own body tense with anticipation. He was still watching the screen, his touch on my cock becoming more confident, almost possessive. The heat was rising between us. His fingers stroked my shaft, pulling back the skin, making my head pulse with the promise of what could come. His eyes flickered down then back to the screen. The man on the laptop was now licking, his tongue swirling around that head with a fervor I knew he was starting to feel.

I shifted a little closer, letting my body lean into his as if that small shift would make him lose his focus on the screen and into me. "Want to know what that feels like?" I whispered, my voice low and husky, letting that last bit of the word hang in the air between us like a soft invitation. I could feel his gaze turn, his eyes now focusing on me. He hesitated but his grip grew tighter, his thumb brushed the underside of my head, and it made me almost jump as I felt it graze my opening. He’s learning and he’s learning it fast.

He took another sharp inhale, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breath. He still did not respond with any words but I knew by then what was about to come, when he suddenly pulled the blanket further down, revealing more of my shaft, as if he had finally let go of what he had been holding for. His thumb glided over the tip, a soft pressure that sent a shiver through my whole body.

"Like this?" I asked, lifting my hips a little, bringing my head closer to his mouth. It was there. That was the invite that he seemed so eager to receive, I only wonder when his lips finally get to feel it.

He swallowed, his gaze moving between my head and the screen, an obvious battle going on deep within his very core. The man on the screen slurped, making that juicy wet sound that all those dicks craved for, letting the head come out with a wet smack with those lips still clinging to it.

He hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. The close-up on the screen, the way the man’s tongue danced around the glistening head, seemed to amplify the heat in the room. His fingers tightened on my cock, and for a moment, I thought he might just give in, but he held back.

I leaned in, my body practically vibrating with anticipation. "Want to… try?" I whispered my voice barely a breath, the words lingering between us. The pre-cum was starting to collect around the head, a glistening sheen.

His eyes locked onto mine, and the look that went through them was something else. A battle was raging within him, a conflict between his ingrained biases and this raw, undeniable attraction. He leaned in, his nose brushing against my skin, the scent of me heavy in the air, mixing with the musk of sweat and anticipation. He inhaled deeply, his breath rough and urgent. His eyes flickered back and forth between my cock and the screen. His lips parted ever so slightly.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a tremor ran through his body. He lowered his head.

His tongue flicked out, a hesitant touch against the pre-cum slicked head of my cock. It was a brief contact, a fleeting graze, but it sent a jolt through me. His breath hitched, and he pulled back slightly, his eyes wide as if suddenly coming up for air, with a mixture of confusion and... a deep need I had been trying to feed to him.

He looked at me, his gaze searching, as if trying to understand what just happened. His lips were parted slightly, and a thin line of moisture glistened on them, a remnant of the contact. The man on the screen was still working, his tongue now gliding over the head with long, deliberate strokes.

His hand tightened around my shaft, and he leaned in again, his gaze fixed on the glistening pre-cum.

I watched him, my body tense with anticipation. "Good?" I whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Want some more? Enjoy it, Dad. You deserve it." My voice was a soft, suggestive invitation, letting him know that there was no going back and no need to hold back. I met his gaze, a silent challenge, and encouragement in my eyes, letting him know that it was alright to explore, to give in to these new sensations that were taking over his body.

His breath hitched again, and his gaze drifted back to the screen, then down to my cock. I could see the gears turning in his head, his internal conflict slowly giving way to a growing desire. His hand moved again, his thumb brushing the sensitive underside of my head, his fingers flexing around my shaft as if it was something so fragile but he was so hungry to taste, so eager to touch.

He leaned in again, his tongue flicking out, this time a bit more boldly, making a long, wet trail across the head of my cock, taking in all the pre-cum, and my very own musk from those past days. He paused again, his eyes now slightly glazed, a layer of heat was finally showing to his very core, no longer struggling to hide. It’s as if a switch inside him was now turned on.

He looked up at me, his gaze intense, a wildness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "It feels..." he trailed off, his voice raspy, "It feels... weird. But..." he paused, his eyes going down to my shaft again. "I want more," he whispered, his fingers tightening. His hand moved down the shaft, exploring. He was all in. He knew it. He felt it. He didn’t look at me but he kept his touch firmly onto me.

On the laptop screen, the scene shifted, guiding Marcus further. The young guy with the massive cock moved to the edge of the bed, his legs dangling down, the shaft pointing proudly toward the camera, like a beacon. The older, muscular man sank down, kneeling between his legs, his face now directly in front of that massive cock, and finally giving in to a pure act of submission. He began to suck, his lips and tongue working with a raw, focused intensity.

I watched Marcus, my body humming with anticipation as his eyes fixed on the screen. The heat that I had been building up for the past few hours was starting to reach its peak. His grip on my shaft tightened, and he hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking between the screen and me.

Then, slowly, almost unconsciously, he began to shift. He moved closer to the edge of the bed, his body following the lead from the scene in the video. He lowered himself, his knees landing on the floor with a soft thud, placing himself between my legs as if he had been there so many times before. His hand still gripped my cock but it’s no longer tentative. It was now so forceful, like he was claiming it for his own, and started to move it closer to his mouth.

I could feel his breath on my head, hot and urgent, the scent of lust heavy in the air. The man on the screen started making slurping sounds, the wet smacking of his lips echoing in the room, the head of the dick now buried deep in his mouth. Marcus mirrored the action, his gaze still fixed on the video, the influence of the scene taking control. He moved his hand on my shaft a little, testing my skin, making the head pulse and swell even more with his soft and teasing touch. His lips parted, ready to follow the same path.

His lips brushed against the head, a soft, tentative touch that sent a jolt straight through me. Then, he took me in, his mouth hot and wet, his lips closing around my shaft with a surprising firmness. The sensation was overwhelming, a rush of heat and pressure that made my body tense. I could feel the muscles in his mouth working around me, the soft friction of his tongue on my sensitive skin as he went down.

My breath hitched. My head arched back, letting him take more of me, that feeling was taking over every part of my brain. His grip on my shaft tightened, guiding the movement. His face was so close to my body now. I watched his eyes, those orbs were so focused with an intense concentration that I had barely seen before. The heat radiated from him was so heavy with lust and desire that made my skin tingle as his mouth began to work, that familiar sound on the screen became a mirror of what he was doing right now.

It was more than just physical, a complex mix of sensations that made my vision blur, with every inch of my body being washed with a sense of surrender, his every move made my body feel like it was on fire and about to melt. The taste of him, the feel of his mouth, the heat, and the way he sucked at me, every single thing was making my skin crawl in such a good way that had me almost on the edge of the world where all that was there was just me and him, that moment, that feeling. All of that was making my head spin. My fingers tightened on the sheets beneath me, the pleasure almost too intense to bear, with the heat gathering at my core and at the very tip of my dick as he continue on.

His movements were hesitant, a mix of eagerness and a clear lack of experience. He was taking me in too far, then pulling back, his mouth working around me with a rough, almost clumsy enthusiasm. It was clear that he was trying to mimic the man on the screen, but he didn't quite know how, that was both hot and frustrating at the same time, my body started to crave a more experienced version of what was happening right now.

I reached down, my fingers brushing his hair, guiding him a little, my thumb pressing the back of his head so that he could feel what was needed and what my body wanted. "Not so hard," I whispered, my voice thick with sensation. “Like this.” I guided him with my hand, showing him the angle, and the way he should use his lips and tongue, making him feel every inch of the shaft. His body was tense, trying his best to follow my direction with how my own cock was feeling at the moment.

The video continued to play, highlighting the man's techniques: the way his lips pulled back, the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue, and his cheeks that pulled in as he sucked at every single inch of the thick shaft, so focused on the head, letting the head rest on his throat to take as much as possible as if it was the most important thing in the entire world. Marcus’s gaze flicked up, his eyes studying the images while my fingers gave him a gentle push, a small encouragement to follow through. His mouth opened wider, taking more of me as my fingers guided his head.

He started to mimic the motion, trying to understand the rhythm and the subtle art that was being shown in front of him.

The sensation intensified. His lips were wet, his tongue hot as he tried, finally giving in to all the teachings, all the experience of the screen, taking as much as I could get from that warm, wet mouth. It was a clumsy attempt at first, but with each stroke, each pull of his lips around me, the experience was transforming with every passing second, it was no longer a strange act from a straight man, but a genuine, honest fag, and pure submission whore that he has finally given into.

On the laptop, the scene intensified again, pushing Marcus further. The muscular man on the screen was now deep-throating the young guy's cock, his cheeks hollowing as he took almost the entire length of that massive shaft. It was a graphic image, a clear display of raw, uninhibited lust.

I watched Marcus, my body still humming with sensation. He was working on me now, his mouth getting more confident, and more skilled with every passing moment, his hand on my shaft was getting much more heavier and the touch was just as hot. His gaze drifted upwards, his eyes locked onto the screen, his body tense and waiting, as his lips parted like he was trying to imagine what that feeling would be like.

"See that?" I whispered, my voice low and husky, almost a purr. My hand moved a little, pressing down the back of his head, a gentle guidance that made him more aware of the length of my shaft, and of all the new potentials he has yet to explore. "Think you could do that, Dad? What do you think that feels like… having all of that filling you up?" My words were an invitation, not a demand, letting him know that the choice was his, while at the same time letting that image settle deeper into his mind.

His breath hitched, his eyes flicking between the screen, my shaft, and my face. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his old inhibitions and the new desires that were taking over his body. He swallowed, his throat working as he considered, his mouth still working on my tip, almost as if he was trying to gauge whether or not he could take on something larger than the head of my shaft.

His hand tightened a little, his thumb pressing down to that soft opening, his mouth shifting to find the right angle to take the full length. He pulled back for a moment, just so that he could see, to have a good measure of what he was about to take. "That.. that big thing feels..," he paused, his eyes glazed, his hand moved forward to guide my shaft closer, and his mouth followed. "What.. what does it feel like... inside?" his voice was barely above a whisper, barely coherent, completely drowned by the urges that were flowing him over from those words he had just uttered. His head dipped lower.

He tried, his mouth opening wide, but it was too much. He gagged, pulling back with a cough, his face flushed. It was a clumsy attempt, a clear sign of his inexperience, but a fire was burning in his eyes, a desire to push beyond his limits. He tried again, his jaw tensing as he attempted to take more, but his throat wouldn’t cooperate, the sheer size of my shaft proving too much for him.

I reached down, my fingers tangling in his hair, tilting his head back a little. "Relax," I whispered, my voice a low purr, "Let me guide you." I made it sound as if I was helping, but it was me taking control of the entire situation, that same old feeling of pure power finally came back. I used my other hand to guide my cock to his mouth, letting the head rest against his lips, a perfect angle that will finally guide him deeper.

Then, I made my move. I shifted my weight, lifting my legs and placing them on his shoulders, his body now locked between my limbs. My hands clamped down at the back of his head, and with the added pressure from my thighs and his very own pull, I pushed him down, the full length of my shaft now plunging deep into his throat. His hands flew up to my thighs, trying to stop the action but his body was now all in. He struggled for a moment, his breath coming in panicked gasps, his body stiff in protest, but I held him there, using my legs as a vice, making sure he took every single inch of me.

Then, I let him go, releasing my grip. He pulled back, his face red, his eyes wide with shock, and a weird new sensation he barely knew existed, gasping for air while that head was still throbbing from his wet lips. I could see the mark of my cock on his lips, the clear evidence of his submission.

I watched him, my body still humming with excitement. "So?" I asked my voice low, a challenge and an invitation mixed in one. "How was it, Dad? Did you like that?”, I wave my cock around like a wand “What’s it like to feel your son's nine inches in your throat? Want some more of that, huh?"

He didn’t respond, his chest heaving, his eyes darting between me and the laptop screen, a chaotic mix of emotions flickering across his face. His hand went to his throat, touching the spot where I had been as if to check if all of that really did happen or not. A small gasp was his only answer.

I reached down again, running my fingers over my cock, letting him see the sheen of pre-cum, a reminder of what he had just tasted. "Think you could get used to that?" I whispered, a smirk tugging at my lips, letting his body lead the way. My hand lingered a subtle invitation.

He shifted, his gaze drawn to my body again. He ran a hand through his hair, his movements were not as quick as before, almost like he was trying to understand the feeling, that raw desire he tried so hard to suppress is now the only thing he can acknowledge, but he seemed to lose that sense of control as he watched the way my shaft stretched with his every touch as if he was trying to imprint my cock into his eyes. Then, he reached forward, his hand hovering over my shaft before closing around it, his grip firm, almost possessive.

He pulled me closer, the wetness of his lips a stark contrast to the heat in his hand, and then I suddenly felt him guide me into his mouth again, the sensation almost made me lose my mind at that very instant. It was no longer hesitant, no longer tentative, but something more sure, something deeper. He was taking me in, his mouth working with a focused intensity. He started moving, his head bobbing as he took more and more, each stroke deeper and more powerful than the last, making me feel as if I was about to lose it.

His mouth worked on me, the heat and the pressure building with each pass, and his lips were wet and hot, almost like they had been kissed over and over again, each sensation driving me further. Then, I saw it. A movement at his side. A hand reaching back, his fingers subtly scratching at his ass, a small, almost hidden gesture that spoke volumes. The intensity of that movement made me almost lose focus, almost enough to break from this wonderful experience.

I pulled back a little, breaking his rhythm and leaving the mouth, my body trembling from that sudden change. "You okay, Dad?" I asked, tilting my head a little, pretending to be concerned, but a smirk tugged at the corner of my lips when those words came out. "You… you itch back there?" My voice was soft, almost innocent, a perfect mask for the manipulation that was boiling inside of me. The sudden pause had a certain power to it that now had all of his attention fixated back on me, while those eyes of his were now lost with the sudden interruption that he never expected would come.

He pulled away, his cheeks flushed, his eyes darting around with a mixture of confusion and a strange new longing that had been building inside him. "What? No! I don't…," he muttered, his hand retracting, but his eyes kept flicking down at the base of his spine as if he was trying to understand what was going on. It was like a little twitch that he couldn’t stop.

I leaned closer, letting the head of my shaft brush against his lips, a soft, wet tease. “Is it itchy… deep inside?” My voice was a purr, letting the question linger in the air. "Like something’s  of you need to be rubbed?" I let my gaze drift down towards his ass, a subtle suggestion that all the needs he was having might be connected with that very place.

I kept my gaze locked on his, a soft, almost teasing smile playing on my lips. “Come on, Dad,” I whispered, my voice dripping with an insincere concern. "You can tell me. Is something bothering you back there? Is it itchy? Maybe even… burning?” I paused, letting those words settle, watching his reaction. I ran a finger down the side of his face, my touch lingering on his jawline, letting him know that I was here, I was watching, and I knew.

He shifted uncomfortably, his hand going back to his ass again, his fingers itching to scratch, his body tensing. "No! It's just… it's just..." he sputtered, trying to find a response that would be able to hide what he was actually experiencing and fighting with the growing urges that his body was forcing him to feel. He tried to meet my eyes, but his gaze kept darting away, his embarrassment clearly visible on his flushed face. “Maybe… maybe it’s just a little… uncomfortable. I don’t know." His voice was low now, almost defeated.

I tilted my head a little, letting a touch of mock sympathy into my tone. “Uncomfortable?” I ran a hand up his chest, my fingertips brushing over his nipple, making him flinch again before I kept moving to press my finger right into his throat, letting him feel that same sensation I felt just moments ago. "Tell me the truth, Dad," My gaze drifted down towards his groin, and then back at his face, making sure he understood the connection. I let my cock brush against his lips, a soft tease that made his breath come a bit more heavy. "I won’t judge.” It was a lie, and we both knew it. But he was so deep in my little game now, he had little choice but to keep playing.

He hesitated, his eyes darting around, but then a sigh escaped his lips, a mix of frustration and surrender that filled the space between us. "It's… it’s like an itch, down there, deep inside, like you said," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, his face flushed with a mixture of shame and a weird new lust that he was so close to finally accepting. “It’s… it’s been driving me crazy.”

I leaned in, my gaze intense, and whispered, “I can help, Dad. I can make it stop.” I moved back a little, giving him some space to breathe. "Maybe… maybe if you take off those shorts, we can see what’s going on.”

He flinched, his hand going down to grip at his shorts, “No, I can’t… That’s…” His words trailed off, the image of what was to come suddenly clear and vivid for him to see. It was as if he was wrestling with all his principles to keep what was left of his dignity.

“You trust me, don’t you, Dad?” I whispered, my voice soft, my hand drifting towards his chest, my fingers tracing the hard line of his pec. “I know what to do.” My fingers grazed the hem of his shorts, teasing the fabric, and that touch was more than enough for his will to simply give way, letting those hands of his fall away as he simply surrendered.

He swallowed hard, his gaze finally meeting mine. He nodded slowly, almost reluctantly.

I smiled. "Lie down on the bed, face down," I said, my voice low and seductive. I watched him as he moved, his body stiff with anticipation. I waited as he settled onto the bed, his face buried in the sheets, his ass now presented to me, all tight and waiting for something more. I moved to stand behind him, my gaze roaming over his form. My body hummed with excitement and growing anticipation, letting the new chapter begin from this very moment.

His ass was a wall of muscle, two perfect globes of firm flesh pressing against each other, concealing the mystery within. I placed my hands on his cheeks, my fingers digging in, gently pulling them apart, revealing the opening underneath. A gasp caught in my throat, the sight of a shock that made every cell in my body pulse with an urgent need that only seemed to keep growing more intensely with every new passing moment.

This wasn't what I'd expected. I mean, even before this moment with me deep down his throat, even with him being the one that pulled my shaft so eagerly inside himself, I had never imagined my own father, that muscular man of principles, with this kind of backdoor. The hole wasn't rough or wrinkled as it should be in a man of his age and a straight guy like him. No. Instead, it was pink, almost luminous with a soft and juicy shine and it was smooth as silk, like it had just been created as a form of sin itself. It looked swollen and slick, like a perfectly formed flower, its petals now parted wide for display as the heat radiated from its center. A wet sheen glistened as if it was eager, pulsing softly between those muscular mounds, an invitation as if he had always yearned for this kind of touch all his life, an opening made not from a lack of something but rather something more.

It was a stark contrast to his masculine exterior. The raw power and hardness of his back and legs was a strong foundation, and these round globes pressing to be devoured were the perfect complement, the ultimate combination that almost seemed too perfect to even comprehend They jiggled a little when I moved my hands, flexing and expanding under my touch, beckoning me closer to the promise hidden deep within.

I ran a finger down the center, tracing the line from the top to the bottom of the opening and my dick throbbed, its head pulsating harder than ever. It felt almost wrong. So deliciously, wonderfully wrong. My imagination took flight and it’s almost painful, like everything I had pictured of my dad was just a facade of a monstrous core that could create such beauty.

I dipped a finger in, pushing past the soft lips, exploring the tight heat inside. It was slick, wet, and so inviting like it was meant to receive me, and it was more intense than anything I had imagined. It was like a soft, hot mouth that was ready to swallow. I slid another finger in, then a third, the tight muscle walls gripping my digits like a hungry beast, making my own body pulse with every small shift and the subtle suction that came from it.

His body tensed beneath me, muscles flexing as he tried to push back, a muffled groan escaping his lips. It was more of a reflex than a protest, as his ass pushed up towards my touch like it was craving for more. I ignored it, and bent down, my tongue tracing the outline of his hole, my lips parting as the taste of him filled my mouth. He smelled of sweat, musk, and a hint of something raw, something wild, and something I desperately needed more of.

“Itching there, Dad?” I whispered against his skin, my breath hot on his flesh, making his body shiver beneath my touch. My tongue worked at his hole, licking, circling, drawing out every bit of that sweet taste. His hands gripped at the sheets beneath him, his body trembling as I worked him over like some cheap whore.

“Your hole is swelling up nicely,” I murmured, my teeth nipping lightly at his skin, my fingers stretching him wider. I felt the subtle shift in his muscles as the entrance became even more prominent, that wetness shining from my saliva, the promise of pleasure and pain too tempting for anyone to just simply resist. "Let me help you scratch..." My finger slid deeper, finding that sensitive spot inside, and I felt him buck beneath me, a strangled moan escaping his lips. "Does that feel better, Dad?" I whispered again, a smirk playing on my lips as I worked him over again, as if he was nothing more than a toy meant for my own enjoyment. My other fingers dug into that firm flesh, my nails dragging lightly, giving him another sensation as I rimmed that hole over and over again. It was all mine. Every inch of it was meant for my pleasure alone.

I pulled my fingers back, letting the juices from his hole glisten on my skin. My gaze locked onto his ass, that muscular landscape still trembling beneath me. The hole was swollen and slick, an invitation I couldn’t ignore. I moved my fingers down again, now using them to guide the head of my cock, pressing it against his tight opening. It was thick and hard, a throbbing mass that yearned to be inside him.

My hand shifted, my fingers stroking that sensitive opening, feeling the way it pulsed in anticipation, making it wetter and making those lips swell like they had always wanted this. It was like a test, seeing how ready he was, letting him feel the fullness of me at the entrance before I finally decided to move forward.

I pushed, a slow, deliberate motion, the head of my cock slipping past his opening, stretching his flesh. He groaned, his hands gripping the sheets tighter, his body tensing as he felt the unfamiliar pressure. I paused, letting him adjust, letting that sensation settle, enjoying the way his ass was fighting back with the force I gave to it. My shaft was thick, wider than his hole, but his opening was so welcoming, it's almost like they were made to fit perfectly.

Then I pushed again, a slow, insistent slide, the length of my cock now making its way inside, his muscle walls gripping at me with surprising strength. He arched his back, his breath hitching as I continued to move, making his every muscle tense. I stopped again, letting the head of my cock rest at the full depth, making him wait for more. It was almost painful to not push myself any further.

His body was shaking, his hips were pushing up to my thrust, silently begging for more.

I started again, slow, deliberate thrusts, stretching him out with each push. Each move stretched him out further and further, and I felt like I was claiming territory with every inch I took. His muscular back was now moving with my motion, his ass now working to make my task easier and easier while I finally let the pace quicken and start pounding him harder, letting him take my full force, my shaft now going in and out so rapidly he would have a hard time knowing where the first thrust started. I moved deeper, each thrust taking me closer to his core, filling every inch of him. My hips moved into his with a hard, powerful rhythm that felt both primal and deeply intimate.

I pounded into him, the rhythm growing faster, and harder. His body was shaking beneath me, his moans growing louder, his hands gripping the sheets, knuckles white. He was at the edge, teetering on a precipice, and the feeling was like nothing else, that raw power I held, knowing he was about to shatter.

Then it happened. A sudden spasm ran through him, his muscles tensing, and a guttural cry ripped from his throat. I felt his body tense, his hips bucking against mine as his release came, hot and thick, a silent eruption that I could only feel against my own body as his huge torso took all of that from my line of sight.

I stopped, pulling out slowly, letting the head of my cock slide from his hole with a wet, sucking sound. He was still, his breathing heavy and ragged, the muscles in his back and ass still trembling from his release. He’d come hard, his body surrendering to the intensity of the moment but I wasn't near enough to feel the heat of it with my own skin, nor did I have any idea where it all had gone.

“Turn over, Dad,” I whispered, my voice low, and soft. “I want to see.” It was time for him to acknowledge, time for that reality to hit him harder than before.

He hesitated, his body stiff, but he did it, rolling onto his back with a soft groan. His face was flushed, his eyes wide with a mix of shame and a strange, new desire.

I looked at him, my gaze searching. I hadn't felt it or seen it, but I knew what had happened. He was all flushed and disoriented with that new sensation that just overtook him, his muscles still tensed like he was still getting pounded by something like something had just filled every part of his being. His eyes followed mine as he finally understood.

“Now, Dad,” I purred, my voice thick with satisfaction as I looked down at him, his body still slick with his own release, his eyes wide and unfocused. I reached down, grabbing his legs and pulling them up towards his chest, bending them at the knees. “Hold them there.”

He hesitated, his gaze meeting mine, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, but the drug and the lingering pleasure were still clouding his mind, making his body move on its own accord. His hands reached down, his fingers wrapping around his ankles, pulling his legs closer to his chest as I had instructed, his ass now lifted and presented, the hole still glistening, more inviting than ever.

I positioned myself between his legs, the head of my cock hovering at his entrance. He was open, stretched, and ready, his body still humming from his recent climax. I pushed in, a slow, deliberate motion, savoring the feeling of his tight muscles gripping around me, his breath hitching as I filled him completely.

I started slow, letting him adjust, letting him feel the fullness of me inside him. Then, I picked up the pace, my thrusts growing deeper, harder, each movement eliciting a moan from his lips, small noises that seemed to escape him unintentionally with no way for him to hold it, his head rolling back with those grunts. I leaned forward, my hand reaching around to grip his chin, turning his face towards me.

His eyes were wide, almost unfocused, a hazy, glazed look as if his mind was no longer in the same place and his soul was completely taken away. His mouth was slightly open, his lips wet and swollen. A thin trail of saliva ran down his chin, mixing with the sheen of sweat on his skin. His face was flushed, almost crimson, his features contorted in a mask of pleasure and something deeper. His tongue darted out, licking his lips as if trying to savor the lingering taste of my cock, his own seed, a mix of raw desires. It was a sight that both disgusted and aroused me, his masculine features twisted into something almost obscene, something so raw and vulnerable that it sent a shiver down my spine. His normally sharp jawline slack, his expression a mix of pure bliss and desperate need. A single tear traced a path down his cheek, a stark contrast to the rough stubble on his face. Between his legs, his own cock lay limp and useless, a stark reminder of the power shift, a silent testament to my dominance.

“What a beautiful Fagot you are, Dad!!!” I said in my victory, and he just lost in the new haze I get him in.

The house throbbed with a new rhythm, a primal beat set by my own relentless need. Every room became a stage, every surface a canvas for our twisted dance. I pushed him hard against the kitchen counter, his massive frame a perfect contrast to my own leaner build. His grunts filled the air as I slammed into him again and again, his powerful chest heaving beneath my own. The taste of him was still lingering, and his scent was everywhere.

I moved, the kitchen now too small a space for my desires, and dragged him into the living room, the thick carpet cushioning each impact. His moans intensified with each thrust, the powerful muscles in his back bunching with each stroke. His hands gripped at my hair, his fingers digging in with a fervor that matched my own. I loved the way his body responded, the way his broad chest moved with every thrust, his nipples hardening with every pounding. I pulled him close, burying my face in his neck, savoring the musk of sweat and cum that clung to his skin, kissing that thick neck that had once seemed so strong and untouchable. I moved down, my lips finding those hard nipples, tugging and sucking, his whole body now shuddering beneath me with all that delight.

His massive frame was so completely mine. He was a beast, but I was his master. His hands moved to his own chest, his fingers kneading his own pecs as if he'd never had the chance to touch them. His grip tightened, his fingers digging deeply into his own flesh as I watched with a smile, my cock still pounding in and out. He started moving his own hips, his powerful body working to meet my rhythm. He pulled me closer, almost burying my head in his chest, that huge, muscular torso that was now completely surrendering to me, his muscles tensing with each movement. His mouth parted, his lips wet, and he made a low moan as if he had almost reached that next level of pleasure.

Later, as exhaustion finally began to settle over him, he collapsed onto the bed, his body trembling but I wasn't anywhere near ready to rest. I watched as his breaths grew slow and even, his eyes fluttering closed. I knelt behind him, and as I moved down that amazing hole, I couldn't resist tracing the outline of his ass cheeks with my fingers, teasing the delicate muscles. I ran a finger down the edge of his hole, teasing the soft lips that seemed almost impossibly inviting. I loved how he was so completely at my mercy. Even asleep, his muscular body was still mine, a potent and satisfying conquest. That wide hole remained my ultimate trophy, a testament to the complete control I held over this once-impregnable man.